There are several of us any given Sunday. I am the youngest, at thirty, and the oldest is in her seventies.
Most of them have grandchildren. I have a five-month-old baby.
They have been there; they have experienced the sleepless nights; they know the struggles and sorrows and joys and victories that are new to me every day in this journey of motherhood.
We share stories, and concerns, and laughter.
We share what God is teaching us in His Word.
We learn and grow and seek and find– even now they are growing– and they encourage me in their faithfulness to the God who bids them, in every season of life, to change.
And they pray.
I have never before been part of a group of such prayer warriors.
God uses them daily to convict me.
Sometimes I feel like I have access to a secret magic formula to having prayers answered– these ladies who prayed that my arthritis wouldn’t flare up while we were on vacation (my arthritis felt better while we were on vacation than it had in months). I asked them to pray that I would have wisdom in teaching Little One to sleep through the night, and she has been sleeping through more and more often.
They are not the secret formula.
There is no secret formula. There is only prayer.
They are women who in the course of long lives of loving and serving God have learned the power of prayer, and they have trained themselves to faithfully pray.
And in doing so, they have blessed me so greatly.
This class– these mentors, leaders, teachers, prayer warriors, friends— they are the gift I am unwrapping today.